


Steamy

by Elfbert



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Lestrade find a shared joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steamy

“Sorry, sorry,” Lestrade smoothed his shirt down and sat down opposite Mycroft, nodding his thanks to the waiter who had shown him to his seat.

“No problem,” Mycroft smiled. “I took the liberty of ordering a bottle. I do hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all! I got stuck in traffic, on the way home, then the tube was messed up. Cheers.” Lestrade lifted the glass Mycroft had just filled for him.

“I am sorry, if you were too busy we could have postponed,” Mycroft said.

“No! No, not at all. Glad to be here.”

Mycroft observed Lestrade as the latter consulted his menu. Damp hair, slight aroma of soap, but no aftershave. Fingernails still showing signs of dirt - all pointing towards a very rushed shower. He smiled slightly, as the evidence seemed to agree with Lestrade’s story.

Their dinner went well - Mycroft still felt nervous, in these first stages of a new relationship, but so far he didn’t seem to have put his foot in it, or scared Lestrade off.

Then Lestrade yawned, widely, his hand flying up to his mouth.

“Oh God, sorry,” he grinned. “I’m just knackered.”

Mycroft smiled politely. “It has indeed been a long day. Perhaps we should call it a night?”

“Would you mind? Sorry.”

“Not at all. Could I drop you at your flat, perhaps?”

“Would you mind? That’d be great.”

 

The journey was quiet, and when Mycroft dropped Lestrade off they agreed to speak later in the week, to arrange another meeting.

As Mycroft drove home he tried to quash any niggling worries about Lestrade finding him too dry and boring.

 

He waited for three days before calling. Lestrade didn’t answer.

He found himself forensically examining his memories of the last few ‘dates’ they had been on. Lestrade had seemed happy enough to join him. Enthusiastic, even. And it was perfectly reasonable that the man had been tired, even if had been his day off. People had…activities, he was sure, which they partook in when not at work. And likewise, busy people could not always answer their mobile telephones.

It was in the middle of fretting about being too boring for someone like Lestrade, that his phone rang.

“Sorry I missed you,” Lestrade started. “Didn’t hear the phone.”

“I completely understand. I was wondering if you’re free over the coming week? Perhaps some lunch?”

“Ah. Um, I’ll have to get back to you. Sorry, I’m just really busy this week. But…yeah, can I get back to you? Soon as I know anything I can give you a call.”

“Of course. Whenever it’s convenient for you, just let me know.”

“Yeah, will do. Sorry, i’ve got to go - bad timing, huh? I definitely will call, soon as I know.”

 

Mycroft sat back in his chair, his doubts more pressing than ever.

 

Finally another date was set - but last minute, and at a restaurant which was not as high on Mycroft’s list as he would have liked.

Lestrade was again apologetic, and once again, Mycroft couldn’t help but examine him for clues - albeit subtly.

“Have you been working on your motorcycle?” he asked, once again spotting the dirt embedded around Lestrade’s fingernails, and colouring a few cuts and nicks on his fingers.

“Oh, no, she’s back up and running. You should come out with me one day - never know, you might enjoy it,” Lestrade grinned.

Mycroft gave a small smile, wondering if the other man really did think of him as some uptight bureaucrat who somehow frowned upon fun.

“I’m sure I would, yes. It’s very kind of you to offer.”

Their conversation continued, a little stilted, at times. Mycroft found it hard to imagine what subjects he could bring up which would interest Lestrade. He had hobbies and interests, but none he could really think that Lestrade would enjoy, apart from a love of motor vehicles, about which they frequently spoke at length.

 

The next time they met, Mycroft invited Lestrade to his house, hoping that their relationship might be ready for a ‘next step’. He was definitely not the sort to play footsie in a public restaurant, or kiss anyone on a doorstep. So, despite his mild dislike of having other people in his house - his one place of peace and quiet - he realised it was the only way to go.

Lestrade turned up on time, wearing jeans and a shirt, and carrying a bottle of wine.

He smiled awkwardly on the doorstep. “Hey, nice house. I bought this…but it’s probably not what you’re used to. You can always save it until Christmas and mull it to death though.”

Mycroft smiled. “I assure you, I am not an expert on wine. I like what I like, just as everyone else does.”

Lestrade grinned again, and stepped inside.

“Shoes?” he asked.

Mycroft took a moment, and then realised what the question referred to. “Oh, as you like. You are welcome to remove them if you wish, but only if you wish.”

Lestrade toed them off, pushing them vaguely neatly under the small desk in the hallway.

“Please, come through,” Mycroft gestured. “I did open a bottle earlier, to breathe, if you would join me in a glass?”

Lestrade nodded, looking around the large sitting room.

When Mycroft returned from the kitchen he inwardly cringed, as Lestrade was standing by a large painting.

“This is beautiful,” Lestrade said, taking the glass. “It looks like a painting, not a print. Is it a copy?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow very slightly.

“No, it is not.”

Lestrade very slowly turned to look at him. “It’s not…it’s not the original though, is it?”

Mycroft wasn’t quite sure what to say. “You know the work?” he asked, wondering if Lestrade was a secret art-lover.

“Well, sort of. I know who painted it!” Lestrade turned back to it. “Turner, right? I thought the National owned it? I know they don’t display it though, crying shame.”

“You appreciate the works of Turner?” Mycroft asked, trying to be casual, but inside he was welling with the joy of another shared passion.

“Oh, well, not really. I do like a nice painting, though. I just…” Lestrade gave an awkward smile. “I sort of like steam locos, really.”

Mycroft’s ears virtually pricked up. Most people called them steam engines. Or steam trains. Few correctly termed them ‘locomotives’.

“Ah, I see. I confess to having a certain…liking for them myself. If you would like a small tour of the flat, I have a few other items you might enjoy.”

Lestrade certainly looked interested, so Mycroft led the way, showing Lestrade the kitchen, where dinner was smelling divine, and then continuing on upstairs, for a small glance into the spare room, before heading back downstairs to Mycroft’s study.

“On the table there, you may like…”

But Lestrade was ahead of him, peering down into the glass case. “The Sir Nigel! Most people have the Mallard,” Lestrade grinned back at him. “Any reason you picked this one instead?”

Mycroft couldn’t help but swell with pride again - not just that his perfect, hand-built model of a classic steam locomotive hadn’t been laughed at, or passed off as a toy - but that Lestrade had even correctly identified it!

“I greatly admire Sir Nigel Gresely, and felt it was appropriate to own the loco named for him. And it does, after all, hold the speed record for…”

“…a loco travelling with laden carriages, yeah,” Lestrade bent over again, and Mycroft managed to only be a tiny bit distracted by the tight denim on show. “It’s a beautiful model. Did you make it?”

“I…helped,” Mycroft admitted. “Someone with far more skill than I did most of the work.”

“Fantastic.” Lestrade straightened up again. “Ever been on a wagon hauled by her?”

“Oh…” Mycroft was completely torn, trying to decide if he should admit his full love of all things steam on the railways, or attempt to maintain some level of ‘cool’. The smile on Lestrade’s face convinced him that he should be honest. “I have been lucky enough, yes. I am…an enthusiast, one might say.”

“That is…” Lestrade was staring at him, a ridiculous smile on his face, and Mycroft braced himself for some comment on how it suited him, to be a trainspotter - an anorak, stuck in the past. “Amazing.” Lestrade finished.

“Ama…really?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Really. I wasn’t going to tell you, because…well, because people laugh, right? When you say you like trains? But I love steam locos. I mean, I don’t see how anyone couldn’t. They’re beautiful, powerful - perfection.”

Mycroft smiled right back at him. “They are indeed. I only wish we lived in an age where all rail transport was so beautiful. I mean - don’t get me wrong, the Shinkansen system in Japan is phenomenal, but it rather lacks the romance of steam.”

“Definitely,” Lestrade nodded. “I wouldn’t mind being late to work if I was being hauled by a beauty like this one,” he gestured to the case.

“Indeed. Perhaps we should begin campaign,” Mycroft smiled. “It is…refreshing, to meet someone else who is passionate about such things. I generally fear people will suspect I spend my weekends wearing an anorak, noting down numbers from those vile little electric trains we have these days, if I admit to a love of steam locos.”

“I know what you mean. I…wasn’t going to say anything for exactly that reason, to be honest.”

The dinner passed quickly, both of them finding it easy to discuss various topics, now that at least some mutual ground had been found, potentially embarrassing hobbies revealed and shared. At the end of the evening, Mycroft was pouring out a couple of brandies when Lestrade slid an arm around his waist, and before the end of the night they had shared their first, slightly tentative, kiss. Mycroft’s heart soared.

 

The next time the met Mycroft was intrigued. He had been told that Lestrade was going to pick him up from his flat, and to keep the whole day free. He had been instructed to wear comfortable clothes, which could cope with a bit of dirt, and the sturdiest footwear he owned.

He was not particularly surprised when Lestrade pulled up outside the flat on a large, gleaming, motorbike. He walked up the front door with two motorcycle helmets and a large bag.

Lestrade greeted him with a kiss. Then swung the bag off his back.

“Right, you need to try a few things on. Hopefully they’ll fit well enough.”

Mycroft watched with interest as items were pulled from the large rucksack, and shaken out.

“I know they’re not the most attractive - but better this than we get in an accident and you don’t have any gear on.”

Mycroft pulled on the trousers, noting the areas of tough padding, and nodded. They were slightly short on him, but not awkwardly so. Next came a jacket, and although it was a touch large, Mycroft accepted it was necessary, and zipped it up, looking down at himself. “Do I pass muster?” he smiled.

“You look great. So…ever ridden pillion before?”

“Err, no, I have not.” Mycroft admitted.

“I’ll take it slow then. Just remember, hold on, trust me, follow my body movements - if I lean, you lean too. And no sudden movements. You can talk to me, there’s Bluetooth in the helmets, so don’t be afraid to say if you need to stop or want me to slow down or anything, okay?”

Mycroft nodded, adrenalin in his system making him shake very slightly as they walked out to the motorcycle.

“So I’ll get on, then you swing your leg over. You can stand on the peg here if you need to,” Lestrade flipped down a foot peg on each side. “Don’t worry, the bike won’t tip, cos I’ll have it, okay?”

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded, then watched as Lestrade pulled his helmet on, following the actions to avoid getting a strap caught up or any other embarrassing occurrence. Then Lestrade swung his leg over the saddle and settled on the bike, knocking it off the stand and steadying it.

“Ready?” Said the slightly tinny voice in Mycroft’s helmet.

“Indeed,” Mycroft assessed the situation, then stepped forward.

“Don’t be afraid to grab onto me. Hang onto my shoulder or something.”

Mycroft worried for a moment, then did exactly that. He tried not to rest too much weight onto Lestrade, but had to grab on a little harder as he tried to settle onto the seat.

“Okay?” Lestrade said. “Grab onto me, or the handles, whatever feels safer.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft carefully put his hands onto Lestrade’s waist. “Might I enquire as to our destination?” he asked.

“You can enquire, but I’ll just be evasive,” Lestrade laughed, glancing around them before starting the engine, checking the road and smoothly pulling away from the kerb. “Promise you’ll enjoy it, though.”

Mycroft just about managed to nod, as his hands gripped into the leather of Lestrade’s jacket. He felt distinctly unstable on the bike - he wanted something more than his own body to anchor him down and keep him safely on the back. He had all sorts of visions of sliding off and ending up under a bus or something.

As the journey progressed, Mycroft found himself relaxing. Lestrade was clearly completely in control, and wasn’t trying to cut through traffic too close to anything, or scaring Mycroft by speeding along the country lanes. And Mycroft never came close to falling off, although he didn’t ever let go of Lestrade, either.

“You won’t even give me a clue?” he asked, as they wound through some country lanes.

“Thought you’d be picking up clues,” Lestrade said. “Signposts, fauna and flora, road numbers, that sort of thing.”

“I have found myself…distracted,” Mycroft admitted.

Lestrade laughed, and Mycroft couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

 

A short while later, having taken heed of what Lestrade had said, Mycroft did begin to notice the signs. And he smiled.

“A heritage railway?” he said. “What a marvellous idea.”

“Well…I just thought it might be fun, together? Have you been here before?”

“I have indeed. But never with anyone to share the experience with,” Mycroft assured. “Which I’m sure will make it more enjoyable.”

“Glad you think so,” Lestrade answered.

Mycroft frowned slightly as they skirted the main car park - but he reasoned that Lestrade might know somewhere better for bike-parking.

Then they pulled through a set of gates, clearly marked ‘Staff Only’.

“Um…are we allowed in here?” Mycroft asked.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” Lestrade answered, pulling into a free spot. “Want to jump off?”

Mycroft climbed off the bike as gracefully as he could manage. As he removed the helmet and tried to put his hair in some sort of order he caught sight of a half-built loco in a nearby shed. He couldn’t help but smile, looking forward to sharing his passion with Lestrade.

“Right,” Lestrade pulled his own helmet off, leaving his hair tousled and spiky. “Follow me.”

“I…um…is it safe, shouldn’t we go via the road?” Mycroft jogged to catch up with Lestrade as he headed straight towards the sheds.

“Ah, well, I guess I should admit something to you,” Lestrade turned and smiled. “We’re not exactly just going to be passengers, see.”

Mycroft gaped. “You…I know they allow people to spend time in the cab, but…my goodness, I’ve never…well, it seemed a little…odd, to buy such a thing for oneself, I suppose.”

“Well it’s definitely not odd to sort it out for someone else,” Lestrade smiled. “Come on, you need to get changed.”

“I…you’ve done this before?” Mycroft asked.

“Yeah, yeah, a few times,” Lestrade grinned, leading the way to a small changing room, where shelves held piles of folded overalls.

“Here you go, these should be about right,” Lestrade handed Mycroft a pair.

They changed into matching blue overalls, orange high-vis vests, stowed away their biking gear, and Lestrade led the way further into the shed.

It was only when a couple of the other people working in the shed greeted Lestrade that Mycroft began to think there was more going on than met the eye.

They stopped near the front of the shed, and Lestrade gestured to the large, black locomotive sitting there. “We’re going to take her out,” he smiled. “And…You’ve probably already guessed, but…it’s not just one of those days where you get to spend an hour or two on the footplate. This is my…hobby, I suppose. I drive for this railway.”

“You…for…you drive, locos? Like…this?”

Lestrade grinned and nodded, pulling himself up onto the footplate, turning to watch as Mycroft followed.

“My old man worked on the railways, and I suppose it was fate or something,” he said, turning and checking the fire. “I used to love going to work with him, on the diesels, and when one of these places opened near us, we both went along. Obviously, I only got to do the cleaning and the little jobs at first, but once I was strong enough I got to raise the fires, then ride the footplate as fireman, and finally drive. Been doing it years now. Best way to relax, steaming through the countryside, or working on a loco, bringing it back to life.”

Mycroft stared, and tentatively reached out to stroke one of the well-worn handles.

“Aw’right, Stradey?” A man appeared on the other side of the loco, his face already blackened with soot.

“Hey Stan, she looks lovely, as always,” Lestrade smiled. “Hey, this is Mycroft - he’s come for a ride. First time.”

“Yer in fer a treat then, Mycroft,” Stan smiled. “Ain’t no better way to spend a day than under steam.”

“Oh, I’m already convinced of that,” Mycroft smiled.

“You takin’ ‘er up for coal then?” Stan asked Lestrade.

“Sure am, hop on,” Lestrade smiled to Mycroft. “I wasn’t quite sure you’d be up for full fireman duties, first run, so Stan’s going to do all that.”

Mycroft spluttered. “Of course! I wouldn’t have any idea of what I was doing! I mean…” then he noticed them both smiling at him. “Which, of course, you know, given it must take many years of training.”

Lestrade grinned widely. “There’s one job you can do, though.”

“Oh yes? Pour tea, perhaps?” Mycroft smiled.

“Nope - well, yes, but not until we’ve done some work! Right now, grab that handle and give two short tugs.”

Mycroft smiled so widely he felt as if the top of his head might fall off. “Yes, Sir!”

Mycroft felt like a small boy, overflowing with glee as he gave two short blasts on the whistle and Lestrade turned a few of the handles, watching some dials, then shifted a lever, leaning out of the loco as they slowly moved off.

“This…really is just absolutely amazing,” Mycroft said.

“We don’t have a full passenger service straight off, got to do a little bit of shunting and then run some carriages up to the far station, for a special,” Lestrade smiled. “But you can stay as long as you like, or have a look around, or ride in comfort in the back.”

“Do you honestly think you could remove me from this footplate?” Mycroft smiled. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me you could drive. All our conversations, and you never once saw fit to mention you did not only enjoy looking at locos, but also driving them?”

Lestrade eased the locomotive to a stand, and Stan jumped down to switch the points.

“And not get to see the look on your face when you finally realised just now? Not a chance.”

Mycroft shook his head, unable to come up with a suitable rejoinder.

“Now come here, put your hand on there, and drive this loco with me,” Lestrade grinned.

Mycroft obeyed, revelling in the feel of Lestrade’s hand closing over his own, and the power at their fingertips, as the loco moved backwards over the points, running slowly under the huge coal hopper.

As they came to a stand, he couldn’t help himself but turn to Lestrade and kiss him gently.

“Oi, she produces the steam, not you two,” Stan called up from the ground.


End file.
